The Dark Ground

by Gillian Cross

  Robert gazed up at the pillar, trying to see it properly. It was lit from above by a steady, orange glow, but every few seconds the roaring swamped it with a burst of raw light that sent long shadows shooting around it.

  Through the shadows the pillar rose into the sky, massive and unmoving. Vast loops of creeper snaked over the whole surface, spiraling one over another to the very top.

  "I think we could get up there," Robert yelled.

  Instantly Cam tucked her spear through the straps of her pack and began to climb, hauling herself from one ring of creeper to another. Almost immediately she was out of sight, lost among the dark leaves. Until the bright light flared. Then she was visible for a brief second, flattened against the pillar.

  It was like watching a thunderstorm in slow motion. Sound and light came together, intense and overwhelming—but only for a moment. Then it was dark again, until the next flare. Each time, the light found Cam higher than before, but she was always still. As though she had jumped magically, without any effort.

  Robert put his mouth to Zak’s ear. "We’d better get going, too," he said.

  Zak nodded and started to scramble up behind Cam. Robert waited a few seconds and then set off steadily after him, pulling himself through the dark. He froze whenever the light caught him, and that slowed him down and cramped his muscles into awkward positions. It was almost twenty minutes before he reached the place where Cam and Zak had stopped.

  They were just below the very top, sitting side-by-side on a ledge where two strands of creeper had twisted together. As Robert hauled himself up to join them, they were staring out at what lay ahead, and he turned to follow their eyes.

  He found himself looking into chaos.

  The darkness was full of moving lights and swooping, sliding reflections—white, red, orange, yellow, green. The sound was beyond noise, forcing its way into his ears like a liquid and filling the air with choking fumes.

  He "knew" what he was seeing. He had words for it. Traffic. Road. Headlights. But those words had nothing to do with the turmoil in front of him. He shut his eyes and put his hands over his ears.

  The next time the noise died down, he looked again. Now everything was still under the eerie orange light. And running left and right in front of him, as far as he could see, was a long, shallow ridge of black ground, completely bare of vegetation. Its surface was as rough as a lava field. It sloped up gently and evenly to a narrow plateau and then fell away again on the far side.

  Behind it, in the distance, was a high wall as tall as the pillar where they sat. And beyond that, far, far off and way up in the darkness, were huge rectangles of light, hanging against a flat backdrop of solid black.

  Tilting his head back, Robert looked at the rectangles, forcing himself to see the patterns they made. Then he hunted for the structures that held them in place. Gradually he began to make out the hunched shapes of the gigantic, brick cliffs that rose up sheer beyond the lava field and the wall.

  I know those houses. One of them is ours.

  He went back to the rectangles and counted them, figuring out which were which. Which windows were his. When he was sure, he stared across at them, trying to think home. But his mind wouldn’t do it.

  When the next light came, he closed his eyes against it, and Cam leaned sideways, yelling into his ear.

  "So you think we can get across there? How long do you reckon that’s going to take?"

  Robert waited until the light had passed. Then he opened his eyes and studied the black ridge ahead of them. "Twenty minutes? Half an hour? Depends how rough the surface is. It wouldn’t take long if we could get a clear run at it."

  If.

  Looking sideways he saw Cam’s wry smile. He saw Zak frowning at the vast shapes thundering past. Car. Bus. Truck.

  The names were ridiculous. Cars and buses and trucks were made to fit people. People could drive them around or cross the road in front of them. These were storm machines, too big to see whole. Their shapes blurred in Robert’s brain, hammering the same thought at him, over and over again.

  We have to get past those. We have to get across.

  After a long time, Zak tugged at his arm, pointing toward the ground. Cam was already disappearing down the pillar. For the last time, Robert looked across at the great wall and the lighted panes beyond it. Then he let himself off the ledge and began to climb down.

  When they reached the bottom, they retreated a little way into the green jungle and crouched there, exhausted by the climb and the foul air and the incessant, ugly vibrations.

  It was cold now—the coldest it had been so far. Once they’d stopped climbing, Robert began to shiver. He looked around for a place to make a burrow, but the thorn vines were hard and jagged, and the ground was thick with creepers. Digging would take too long and use up too much energy.

  Cam slid the bundle off her back and unrolled it, doling out the last of the grains she was carrying. They chewed without speaking, working at the grain until it was soft enough to swallow. When there was nothing left, they drank and refilled their shells with dew.

  Robert sat back on his heels and looked at the other two, waiting for the next break in the noise. When it came, he said, "We have to cross. Otherwise this whole journey has been for nothing."

  And Nate’s death . . . But he didn’t say it.

  When the light flooded around them again, he saw that Cam was looking grim and unconvinced. But Zak was nodding.

  "We should get a clear space in the middle of the night," he said, when he could make his voice heard. "But we need to plan it. We’ll be completely exposed out there."

  Robert thought of the night bird and shuddered. "Do we have to go at night? Maybe we could hitch a lift across on someone’s shoe."

  Neither of the others bothered to answer that. The moment the words were out, he knew himself that it would be stupid and dangerous to try.

  "But it’s all dangerous," Zak murmured. "Dangerous at night and dangerous in the day. Dangerous to go and dangerous to stay here. The world isn’t made for people our size. It’s just a question of which risks we choose."

  Robert looked through the tangled plants around them, out toward the orange glare and the bare, ugly space beyond the park. He let the roaring swell and die away three times before he answered.

  Then he said, "OK, I’m choosing. We’ll cross in the middle of the night. Tonight."

  24

  IT WAS A LONG, HARD WAIT. FOR THE FIRST FEW HOURS, THEY huddled together at the base of the pillar, enduring the noise, with the furs pulled around them like a tent to keep out the cold.

  When the furs weren’t enough, Robert began to hunt for reasons to move around.

  "We could collect stones," he said, into one of the silences. "It would be good to have something to throw."

  He didn’t say why. Even mentioning the night bird seemed too much of a risk to take. But the others knew what he meant. Cam grinned and scrambled up, tugging her fur free. She began to scout around energetically, searching for stones that were small enough to carry.

  Zak let her go. Then he said, "We can do better than stones. Look over there."

  He pointed at the edge of the jungle, right by the start of the lava field. Something grimy and pale had snagged against the thorn vines. It hung in a damp, soggy mass, close to the ground.

  Zak went across and began to tug at it, pulling off handfuls and working the shreds together in his hands. Robert had no idea what he was doing, but he went to help. While Cam stacked stones at the base of the pillar, he and Zak made a line of paper balls that dried quickly into small white missiles.

  When they had made thirty or so, Zak fetched his batpack and began to load it with a mixture of stones and paper balls. Then he rolled it up and roped it in a strange way, in a long, vertical sausage, with the top left open.

  "It’s good to have something that will catch the light," he said, in the next little silence. "You take some, too."

  Robert still didn’t understand,
but he had enough faith in Zak to do what he said. He went to get his own batpack, bracing himself for the noise to start again.

  It took longer than he expected. He had loaded the pack and was asking Zak how to roll it by the time the roaring came to drown out his voice. In the light, he and Zak looked at each other, thinking the same thing.

  Cam had noticed, too. As soon as the sound died away, she started to count, measuring the seconds.

  "One, two, three . . ."

  She reached seventy-five before the next noise. And immediately after it was over, she began to count again.

  "One, two, three . . ."

  Until then Robert had barely noticed that the gaps were getting longer. That there were clear spaces now. But over the next couple of hours, as Cam counted, he heard the pauses lengthen gradually. She reached six hundred . . . seven hundred . . . a thousand . . . .

  "We could have gotten across that time," she said then.

  "Give it another hour," Zak murmured.

  Robert leaned back against the pillar. He was very tired and the steady counting made him sleepy. For a while he dozed in snatches, listening to the same words over and over again.

  "One, two, three, four, five . . ."

  IN THE END, HE MUST HAVE SLEPT LONGER, BECAUSE HE WOKE suddenly and heard her saying, " . . . two thousand three hundred and eighty-four, two thousand three hundred and eighty-five, two thousand three hundred and eighty-six . . . ."

  "It’s enough," Zak said quietly, breaking into the counting. "There’s plenty of time. All we need now is luck."

  He stood up, hoisting his pack into position. Cam tied on the water shell and then he walked forward, past the pillar, under the high metal cables, and out onto the wide, open space of the lava field.

  Robert held his breath, looking all around for movement. Everything was still. Zak scrambled forward over the rough black surface of the lava, making for a broad band of pale stone that ran across it.

  Robert hadn’t even noticed it before. But now, watching Zak head that way, he knew what it was. It marked the edge of a sheer drop. A cliff. Zak had to let himself down that precipice before he could even begin to climb the long, shallow slope of the lava ridge.

  Zak didn’t loiter. Glancing left and right, he began to run, leaping from one black mound to another. In a few seconds, he had crossed the level strip in front of them and reached the edge of the cliff. Kneeling down, he turned around and let himself over the edge. For a second Robert saw his fingers gripping the pale stone. Then he disappeared completely.

  "Now we have to watch!" Cam said fiercely. She had a paper ball in one hand and a stone in the other. "Look at the sky—and count!" She began again, muttering the numbers under her breath.

  Robert grabbed two stones and stepped out from behind the pillar, onto the edge of the lava field, to get a clear view of the sky. He scanned it from one side to another, backward and forward, watching for the dark, floating shape of the night bird.

  There was nothing. The sky was empty.

  After a moment, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement on the lava. Zak had appeared again, not running now, but toiling up the slope toward the top of the ridge. His shape was small and dim, but he still seemed frighteningly visible. He was the only moving thing in the whole great, bare space.

  Robert peered harder into the sky, desperate not to miss anything. His throat was dry. He could hear Cam counting on, measuring how long Zak took to reach the top.

  "... two hundred and forty-three, two hundred and forty-four . . ."

  When she reached seven hundred and four, she stopped. Robert glanced down and saw Zak outlined, horribly, against the yellow strip on top of the ridge. He broke into a jog and Robert held his breath, willing him not to stumble. Willing him to get over the plateau and into the shadows on the far slope.

  In a few minutes he had done it. As he disappeared, Cam started counting again, scanning the sky as she chanted the numbers. When she reached seven hundred and four again, she stopped and let out a long breath.

  "He must be there by now. It ought to be quicker going down the other side."

  Robert nodded. "You go next. I’ll keep you covered."

  "OK." Cam gave him a long look. "Scared?"

  "Of course," Robert said. There was no point in lying. "But we have to cross, don’t we?"

  Cam grinned. "Give me a hand with my pack then."

  Robert fixed the shell for her. Taking her spear in her right hand, she stepped out quickly, as soon as he had tied the last knot. He watched her cross the first strip of lava. At the edge of the cliff, she turned and gave him a wave. Then she let herself over and dropped down out of sight.

  Robert began to count silently.

  One, two, three . . .

  He heard Cam catch her breath sharply as she hit the ground at the bottom of the cliff, and he caught the clink of her pack as she stood up. But that was all. Her bare feet were silent on the rough surface of the lava.

  . . . seventeen, eighteen, nineteen . . .

  He was almost up to two hundred when he heard a stone rattle.

  The noise came from beyond the crest, from the far side of the ridge. Was it Zak? Throwing stones?

  There was another rattle. With a sudden flash of understanding, Robert stepped out of the shelter of the pillar and turned, looking back toward the great trees of the park.

  And he saw the night bird.

  It was floating above the trees, circling slowly closer as it surveyed the ground below. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Robert saw Cam come into view, laboring up the dark side of the ridge. In two or three minutes she would be on the yellow strip at the top, completely exposed to the bird’s great, piercing eyes.

  He looked back and saw that it was closer now. He had to do something to distract it before it came right overhead. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he fumbled for the heap of paper balls and grabbed two of them. He threw them one after another, as hard as he could, aiming for the first strip of lava, before the precipice.

  They were light but they carried well, and they landed exactly where he’d planned, one behind the other. Stones would have traveled farther, but no stone would have stood out like those two little dabs of white. And stones wouldn’t have let him try what he meant to do next.

  There was no sign that the night bird had seen anything. It was still moving in easy, questing circles. But it was almost over the fence now and, if he didn’t distract it soon, it was sure to spot Cam when she crossed the yellow line. He bent and scooped up three stones from the pile.

  He wasn’t sure that he could hit the paper balls, but he had to try. Taking a deep breath, he threw one, two, three, very hard and fast. The first stone missed completely, but the second and the third hit the nearest paper ball, knocking it sideways.

  Overhead, the night bird steadied, its attention caught. It was so high that Robert couldn’t tell what it was watching. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cam, clear and vulnerable, scrambling up onto the plateau on top of the ridge.

  Desperately he bent and scooped up more stones, throwing in a steady, even volley. One, two, three, four.

  The night bird circled lower.

  Let it see the paper, not Cam. Let it see the paper . . . .

  Cold with terror, Robert bent and scooped and threw again. One, two—The dark stones knocked the paper balls so that they moved erratically, jerking along.

  And the bird dropped suddenly, coming down silent and huge out of the sky. It dropped—and Robert froze where he was, with his heart beating so fast that he almost passed out.

  Let it see the paper . . . .

  Halfway to the ground, the night bird leveled off and banked left, turning away. Rejecting the paper balls. It drifted back over the park, following the line of the great trees. Robert leaned against the pillar, weak and breathless, watching the easy, drifting shape disappear into the night.

  When he turned back toward the lava field, Cam had disappeared, too. He had no idea wheth
er she was safe under the cliff on the far side. His sense of time had gone completely. All he knew was that he had to set out right away, without waiting. Before he had time to think about the danger.

  He tied the water shell onto his batpack and snatched up his spear. Stepping clear of the pillar, he ran out onto the open lava.

  It was even rougher than he expected. Twice he missed his footing and nearly turned his ankle. It was impossible to look up without stumbling. He had to watch the ground all the time as he jumped and stumbled from one rough mound to another, horribly conscious of the sky above his head.

  When he reached the edge of the cliff, he turned around to let himself down feet first, like the others. The bottom of the cliff was in darkness, and it was impossible to see how far he had to fall. He dropped blindly, landing on both feet and rolling over to break the impact.

  Even so, it knocked the breath out of him. He crouched in the shadow of the cliff until he had recovered and then set out up the slope. It curved away in front of him so that the top was hidden, and he found himself counting again, so that he had some idea of how he was progressing . . . fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six . . .

  He had reached three hundred and fifty when he felt the ground begin to shake.

  He knew, instantly, what it was. In a few seconds the vibration would turn to a roar. Then there would be a blaze of light. And then—

  His mind went blank with terror. Instinctively he turned to run back into the shelter of the cliff behind him.

  Just in time, he realized that he would never make it. He was already halfway up the slope, and running down again meant running right under the wheels of the storm machine. There was only one hope of surviving. Flinging himself to the ground, he shut his eyes and put his hands over his ears, lying still and flat against the rough, hard surface.

  Please let it be a sober driver. Not a drunk going down the middle of the road. Please . . .

  The shaking rose to a crescendo. Then the light came, flaring around him so that it lit up the space behind his closed eyelids. Why couldn’t the driver see him? He was there, right there, in the middle of the road, right in front of the car. Why couldn’t the driver see?